


The Electronic Uprising

by cazflibs



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: When the Dwarfers search a Space Corps derelict for much-needed food supplies, they discover a virus has caused every machine on the ship to mutiny against its human crew.Unfortunately, the virus is still keen to recruit more electronic life-forms to its cause - and holograms and mechanoids are no exception.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This particular plot-bunny came to me about five years ago so had been sitting on my WIP list for some time. But when ‘Mechocracy’ aired in 2017, I thought ‘Oh smeg! It’s too similar a premise!’ and promptly forgot about it.
> 
> However, when I re-aired the idea on Tumblr earlier this year and got some extremely kind reassurances and encouragement to go ahead and actually WRITE this idea up, I thought I’d finally go for it. What the hell. It’s all a laugh, innit?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that all couples will gradually emerge from the ‘Honeymoon Period’ at some point or another. And indeed, Lister and Rimmer had not only emerged from it, they’d hurtled past the farewell sign and were now attempting to navigate the monotonous roads of the Long-Established Relationship whilst subsequently arguing over directions.

Long gone were the days where they’d sneak off to the Sleeping Quarters when the others weren’t watching and gleefully indulge in some literal under-cover action. Now that the Cat and Kryten were well aware of their relationship and ageing bodies put certain limitations to their licentiousness, they’d found themselves slumping into the metaphorical comfort blanket of evenings on the sofa and quite literally staring off into space.

However lately, things between them had become a little tense. And when one uses the term ‘tense’ in the context of this particular relationship, it’s as loose as a gymnastically-trained Titan hooker. 

It was hardly surprising. After all, the combined effects of relentless GELF and Simulant attacks that month, and a rapidly-deteriorating ship that boasted more faults than a Primark Returns Desk was bound to send the relationship skewed to the negative on its delicate balance between bickering and bonks.

It certainly didn’t help matters that food supplies were looking a tad bleak.

Not to say there wasn’t any food _whatsoever_. More the disappointment akin to picking through a tin of Quality Street on 2nd January, only to find nothing but the last of the hard toffees lingering at the bottom.

The curries had long since been demolished, the poppadoms munched, and the last jar of mango chutney mournfully scraped clean. No more Choco-Comets cereal, no baked beans or buttered toast. And worst of all, no Leopard Lager.

To Lister, it was a crisis. 

Which is why, safe to say, he was _not_ in a good mood at all.

And after a particularly trying week dodging a Simulant battalion, he’d probably been spoiling for a rumble before he’d even clocked what Rimmer was eating in the Sleeping Quarters.

Appalled, Lister brandished his arms in challenge. “What’re y’doin’?” 

The hologram cast a sarcastic gaze across the table before him. “Indeed - revision folder, pens, _‘Astronavigation for Dummies’_ textbook. It’s quite the mystery.”

“The _chocolate_ , man!” Lister growled, unimpressed. “Why are you eating the chocolate?!”

Rimmer gave a haughty sigh. “If you hadn’t noticed, it’s been somewhat of a crappy few weeks,” he replied stiffly. “I fancied indulging in something sweet for a change, that's all.”

Scoffing in disbelief, Lister shook his head. “Dwindlin’ food supplies are a bit past ‘crappy’, Rimmer!”

Rimmer rolled his eyes. “The only food supplies that are ‘dwindling’ are the ones that have a ridiculous percentage of fat, sugar, or childish descriptors like ‘Whizz’ in the title.” 

“You know damn well that wholegrain stuff makes me wanna chuck,” Lister pressed with a jab of the finger. “If I wanted to gnaw on tasteless strips of cardboard, I’d have munched me way through your collection of Fascist Dictator Monthly magazines.”

“Stop being so dramatic!” Rimmer dismissed with a wave of the hand as he turned his attention back to his book. “Why on Io are you making this such a big deal?”

Agitated hands pumped open and closed. “Well, _you’re_ the one making food shortages sound as life-threatenin’ as a smudge on the porthole window!”

An eyebrow raised above the rim of the book. “Being picky does not fall under the umbrella term of ‘food shortage’.”

“Oh, so what about you, eh?” Lister scowled, arms folded. “You're lecturin’ me about eatin’ ‘properly’ as you scoff down the last mouthfuls of chocolate on the ship?”

Lowering the book, Rimmer scowled back. “I've taken one bite! Besides, I checked the stock levels before I took it. We've got plenty left. We’re hardly about to run out.”

“ _Nine!_ ” Lister corrected. “We only have _nine_ chocolate bars left, y’smegger!” He gestured pointedly to the bar in question. “Well, _eight_ now.”

“Oh _apologies_ , were you planning on scoffing _nine_ bars of chocolate for dinner tonight?” Rimmer bit back. “With your laughable idea of a healthy diet, I can’t say I’d be totally shocked.”

”Classy, Rimmer. Real classy,” Lister nodded, fuming. “It's not even as if a hologram needs - ”

At Rimmer’s sharp glare and the realisation of what he'd let slip, Lister cut himself short immediately. Pressing his lips together into a hard line, his heart pounded with anger and adrenaline as he stared back hard; the charged atmosphere now feeling as tempestuous as the relationship itself.

“Go on, then,” Rimmer groused. “Say it.”

Dark eyes flitted subtly back and forth as they studied his; the silence between them practically pulsing with grievances unspoken.

Tearing away his gaze, Rimmer thumped down the chocolate bar as he stood. “There's your essential food supply,” he snapped.

The Scouser huffed in irritation. “Rimmer - ”

Snatching up his revision books, the man threw him a glare. “I'll be sure to log it on the ‘dwindling’ food supply system as ‘eight and four-fifths’,” Rimmer added pointedly, shoving past to leave.

Riled, Lister wheeled back to face him. “Hey! Don’t you make me out to be the smeghead here!”

Scowling down the corridor at the retreating figure, Lister made to storm after him when suddenly he was bundled back into the room by a crazed whirlwind of mops, cloths and cleaning products. Peering out from behind his handful, Kryten stared back at him, panicked.

“Sir!” he cried, exhausted. “I came as quickly as I could!” The mechanoid dropped his load before brandishing a spray bottle and sponge. “Now which porthole window is hiding that pesky smudge?!” 

 

It always needed a few hours apart for the pair to lick their wounds. 

That evening, Rimmer lay in his bunk reading when the familiar _swish_ of the door made him glance up. Seeing who it was, he gave a deliberate clear of the throat and returned his attentions to his book.

Padding across the Sleeping Quarters, Lister toed off his boots, clumsily clambered over the ramrod-like hologram beneath him, and lay beside him in wait. When hazel eyes could no longer resist the draw, Rimmer glanced back to meet the man’s patient gaze.

When he was content that he’d snared the hologram’s attention, Lister fished into his pocket and unwrapped a bundle of ragged purple foil where the last two squares of chocolate lay. Snapping them in half, he popped one in his mouth and held out the other silently.

Book sinking onto his chest, Rimmer eyed the offering with a huff. “You sure you can spare it? After all, I don’t _need_ it.”

“S’okay,” the Scouser shrugged, swallowing. “I’ve already had eight bars for me dinner.” At the questioning frown, Lister chuckled despairingly and shook his head. “Pasta, y’smegger.” And as Rimmer lay back to roll his eyes at the underside of the bunk above, he plonked the square on top of those thin, sulking lips. “Now stop moanin’ and eat your chocolate.”

An amused jet of air snorted down cavernous nostrils before Rimmer relented. “Did Kryten have to force-feed it to you?” he teased around his mouthful. “Or did he make some aeroplane sounds with a spoon to make it all the easier to digest?”

“I ate it meself, thanks,” Lister replied pointedly but with the distinct edge of a smile. Snuggling his head against Rimmer’s shoulder, he sighed piteously. “Not a drop of hot sauce goin’ though.”

“My heart doth overflow with pity.”

“Oh smeg off, you.”

Rimmer simply smirked and plucked up his book to read once more. In the contented silence that followed, Lister trailed his fingers up and down the man’s arm. “So, you got any plans for this evenin’?” he asked, voice now low and coy.

“I’ll give you a clue. I’m looking right at it.”

Pressing his lips softly against the hologram’s shoulder, Lister glanced up from underneath his lashes. “It’s been a while, y’know,” he said softly. “I just thought maybe we could - ?” His fingers now left the signposted path and trekked south to the nether regions.

Despite his system’s general disregard for oxygen, Rimmer’s subsequent instinct to inhale sharply through his nose managed to override it. Glancing back to Lister in question, a double-tug of the eyebrows was the only affirmation he required.

Fumbling across him to reach his shelf, Rimmer flashed him a flustered yet wicked smile. “Let me just find my bookmark - ”

Lister sniggered happily, his chest beaming with warmth as he resettled himself underneath him. “You know all the lines, don’t ya?”

“If you were looking for smooth, you smegged up your choice, squire.”

“Just shut up and kiss me, y’stuffy git.”

Two pairs of heated lips were mere millimetres apart when the buzzing trill of the video intercom jerked them apart once more.

“Pardon my intrusion, sirs,” Kryten called from the screen beside them. 

Rolling onto his back, Rimmer growled his frustrations into his palms, followed swiftly by a muffled: “GO AWAY.”

Lister on the other hand, was a tad more subtle. “Look man,” he sighed, “unless you’ve got a Lamb Biryani and a tower of poppadoms you could abseil down, I’m really not needin’ anythin’ right now, yeah?”

“Well, it’s quite possible that I have, sir,” Kryten replied, a knowing smile lighting up the rubber angles of his face.

Lister’s brow furrowed. “Eh?”

“The NaviComp has just located a Space Corps derelict,” the mechanoid explained excitedly. “It’s time to go food shopping!”


	2. Chapter 2

Apart from that one unfortunate incident with the malfunctioning Oxy-Generation Unit a few years back, it was the first time that Dave Lister had ever been awake at 6am. 

Usually, 6am was far too early in his book. For years, he’d doubted that there even _was_ a 6am. It seemed to be the stuff of legend that only diligent workers and - he shuddered at the thought - _joggers_ felt the need to observe.

And yet there he’d been, like a kid on Christmas morning, jumping excitedly on top of the groaning hologram as he tried to cover his head with a pillow.

_Biriyani _, Lister’s mind sang to him happily as the group waited for the air lock to depressurise. _Lager_. His mouth practically drooled at the prospect. Perhaps even _fresh chillies_ if the derelict had a botanical garden.__

__The green light finally gave a chirpy _ping!_ and the ancient air lock door creaked open for the first time in centuries. With a triumphant cheer, Lister swung the bazookoid onto his back and bundled past excitedly, almost knocking the psi-scan out of Kryten’s hand. The mechanoid tutted like a mother hen as the Cat followed in swift pursuit. _ _

__“Do y’think there’ll be any fish supplies on board?” Lister grinned with an encouraging dig of the elbow._ _

__Sharp teeth gleamed in the low light. “Ohh man, you’re gonna make me drool!” the Cat dreamily._ _

__Glancing back, Lister noticed how the hologram was hovering slightly behind, his usual-sullen features twisted into a grimace. “What's up with you?” he prodded._ _

__Rimmer regarded him as if he’d just asked what colour a black hole was. “Can't you hear that?”_ _

__The Scouser stared at him blankly. “Hear what?”_ _

__Tutting loudly, a long thin finger rubbed at his ear. “That really annoying whiny sound.”_ _

__“How many times do I have to tell you, man?” Lister replied, reigning back the cheeky smirk that threatened to surface. “Stop talkin’ and it goes.”_ _

__“As a matter of fact, sir,” Kryten cut in haughtily, “I have to attest that Mr Rimmer is indeed telling the truth.” Neon-blue eyes winced in irritation. “It appears that there’s some manner of high-pitched monotone resonating from somewhere in this vicinity.” He studied his psi-scan once more before treating it to a reprimanding smack. “Perhaps from a faulty speaker.”_ _

__The Cat gave a dismissive snort. “What you talking about, bud? I can't hear anything.”_ _

__Features creasing in irritation, the mechanoid rounded on him. “Well, perhaps it's at too high a frequency for you to detect, you pompous, overgrown housepet!”_ _

__Never had there been such a group display of open-mouthed gaping outside the audience for the Female Topless Boxing Final._ _

__“Okay, steady on, guy!” Lister soothed, feeling somewhat torn between amusement and concern as he patted his robotic compadre on the blockish angles of his shoulder. “Where did that Bitch Mode come from, eh?”_ _

__“Yeah,” the Cat hissed with a challenging jut of the chin. “What got your feckles up, huh?”_ _

__Blinking back to himself, Kryten’s rubber neck shrank back guiltily like a tortoise retreating into its shell. “Pardon my outburst, sirs,” he muttered, embarrassed. “I-I don’t know what came over me then.”_ _

__“You haven’t got Spare Head 3 on again, have you?” Lister mused warily as they continued up the corridor. “The last time you used him, he wouldn’t stop shoutin’ obscenities at stationary objects.”_ _

__The mechanoid dismissed this with a shameful shake of the head before gesturing left. “The canteen should be just this way, Mr Lister, sir,” he mumbled hurriedly, grateful for the change of subject. The group approached the large double doors that swished open merrily as they approached. “It won’t be long until you can feast yourself silly on a delectable array of - OH, CREATOR!”_ _

__“Smeggin’ hell!”_ _

__“What on Io - ?!”_ _

__Frozen aghast in the doorway, it seemed that they’d inadvertently stumbled across a scene from Channel 27’s - _‘The World’s Most Hilarious Fatal Accidents’.__ _

__It was rather an alarming array of simultaneous fatalities, which had seen the crew electrocuted, strangled or crushed to name just a few of the sorry endings. Never had the posse seen such a collective of skeletons in a bizarre variety of positions since their escapades on the _SS Samsara_._ _

__Despite the shocked silence, the Cat’s grin widened as he wagged his finger in understanding. “Ohhh, I get it! This is what you told me about last time, right?” He nodded suggestively at the sprawl of skeletons. “This is what you monkeys _do_ when you - ”_ _

__The feline tailed off as he clocked the trio shaking their heads wordlessly. Frowning, he thrust his hands on his hips with a tut. “You humans are _way_ too confusing.”_ _

__“I-I don’t understand, sirs,” Kryten babbled, clearly flustered. “The ship’s black box made no mention of any fatal incidents. And yet the psi-scan has detected over forty deceased crewmembers.”_ _

__Lip curled, Rimmer’s gaze tracked around the room. “Well I know which one I’m inclined to believe.”_ _

__“Maybe they forgot to lock the back door that night,” the Cat mused, “and some bad-ass simulant dudes broke in when they were all asleep?”_ _

__“Asleep in the _canteen?_ ” Rimmer replied flatly._ _

__The Cat scowled in defence. “Maybe they were all havin’ a midnight snack.”_ _

__Tapping at the psi-scan, Kryten shook his head. “According to the log, sirs, nothing had boarded the ship. Indeed, their security systems appear to be as tight as Mr Rimmer at an alcoholic drinking establishment,” he surmised, steadfastly ignoring the hologram’s glare._ _

__“I don’t get it,” Lister squirmed, tugging at the worn cuff of his jacket sleeve. “It looks as though they've all suffered completely different causes of death. It's like some smegged-up game of Cluedo.”_ _

__“Ah yes, that old chestnut. Colonel Mustard, ‘jamming the poor sod’s tie in the food dispenser’,” Rimmer muttered, gesturing to the strangled skeleton that was still affixed to aforementioned machine. “What sort of moron doesn’t stand clear of a food dispenser when it’s operational?”_ _

__Lister twiddled sheepishly at his remaining dreads. “Yeah. What kinda moron would do that, eh?”_ _

__Kryten stooped to inspect a skeleton still lifelessly clutching a cardboard cup, its liquid contents long-dried. He gently ran the psi-scan across it until it trilled back with its findings. “ _Benzisotheiosol?_ ” he blinked, disbelieving._ _

__Leaning over the mechanoid’s shoulder, Lister snorted. “Coffee names are gettin’ so smeggin’ stuck up nowadays.”_ _

__“It’s not a type of coffee, you modo!” Rimmer muttered with a roll of the eyes. “It’s obviously some sort of chemical. Something - ” At the press of Lister’s expectant stare, he shrugged uselessly. “ - chemically.”_ _

__Kryten leaned in to his human master, conspiratorial. “Benzisotheiosol is commonly found in cleaning products, sir.”_ _

__“So why the smeg was he drinkin’ it?” Lister asked, nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m guessin’ he doesn’t usually take his coffee with a couple of sugars and a splash of Windolene?”_ _

__“One would assume that he wasn’t on good terms with whoever served it to him,” Rimmer sniffed._ _

__“Perhaps he never used to offer to do the tea round, sir?” Kryten pondered. “My knowledge of 23rd Century social etiquette isn’t quite up to scratch, but if my history knowledge serves me correctly, it was quite the faux pas.”_ _

__“Hey, check this guy out!”_ _

__The trio turned back to the Cat’s call from the Beauty Salon further along the corridor. Stepping through the doorway, they collectively winced at the skeleton with a hair dryer cord still wrapped around its neck._ _

__“Killed himself over a bad hair day,” the Cat surmised sadly with a pitying shake of the head. “Unmanageable hair can do that to a guy.”_ _

__“The sheer number of equipment-related accidents seems off the scale, sirs,” Kryten clucked. “I’ve seen fewer work-related accidents on a Lawyers4U advert.”_ _

__“But none of this makes sense,” Rimmer insisted, tapping a troubled finger against his lips. “The health and safety upkeep on the ship’s files looked perfect.”_ _

__A jet of air hissed through Lister’s teeth. “Maybe they all died of boredom fillin’ out the forms?” Rimmer shot the man a glare which was greeted with a sassy smack of the lips._ _

__“I _suggest_ ,” the hologram replied stiffly, “that we abandon the salvage mission and skedaddle pronto. If we don't know what killed the crew, it might be pertinent not to stick around and find out for ourselves.” _ _

__“Rimmer, man, we've got no choice.” Lister shrugged, despondent. “Our food levels are lower than the morals of a tabloid journalist. We _need_ to stock up.”_ _

__“The only ‘need’ here is for you to take a shower,” Rimmer countered with a raised eyebrow. “Curry and lager are not essentials in life.”_ _

__The Scouser scoffed. “Well seeing as me life consists of nothin’ but floatin’ around in deep space, I’d beg to smeggin’ differ!”_ _

__“Lister, we discussed this - ”_ _

__“No, we didn’t discuss it,” Lister cut in, fuming. “Discussin’ it would suggest y’actually _listened_ to what I had to say for a change!”_ _

__In the strained silence that followed, Kryten gave an awkward clear of the throat, gesturing to the psi-scan. “According to the ship’s mainframe, sir, the operational checks are running clean. I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm.”_ _

__Holding his charged stare, Lister jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll be in the Food Stores, yeah? An hour, tops.” He cocked his head. “You joinin’ us?” At the hologram’s stubborn fold of the arms, he sighed wearily, holding his hands aloft as he led the others away. “Whatever, man.”_ _

__Scowling after them, Rimmer muttered angrily under his breath. Well, if Biriyani-Breath insisted on prioritising samosas over safety then he wasn’t going to just stand here and sulk._ _

__He’d head for the Officer’s Mess and sulk there instead._ _


	3. Chapter 3

Although powering down the stasis field that encased the food stores took Kryten only a few minutes, it took the Cat mere seconds to disappear into the maze of shelves with an ecstatic yowl.

Both human and mechanoid wandered wordlessly down the aisles of food boxes. Occasionally, Kryten would stop to pluck out some chosen items and place them into the trolley that his master diligently guided along. However, it was obvious that the excitement in the man beside him was distinctly lacking.

Picking thoughtfully at the ancient paint that peeled away from the handle, Lister finally piped up. “Kryten, man?”

“Hmm?” 

“Do y’think Rimmer’s right?”

With cubed fingers perusing the shelves, the mechanoid gave a tilt of the head. “Well, I’d calculate there’s only a 32% chance of death on board this vessel, sir, so it’s certainly not a given.”

Dark eyes widened in alarm. “I meant about bein’ immature about me food choices!”

“Ohh, nonsense, sir,” Kryten clucked, unflustered. He plucked up a tin of vegetable soup before discarding it just as quickly. “Why, your love of Eastern cuisine demonstrates a palette that is a prime specimen of maturity.” Rubber hands suddenly flailed excitedly before grabbing down an all-too-familiar box. “Ooh! Choco Comets! Your favourite breakfast treat!”

“Yeeeees!” Lister cheered happily as the mechanoid held the cereal box out to him before hugging it to his chest like a cherished teddy bear. “I smeggin’ LOVED these when I was a kid!” He patted a hand on Kryten’s arm, grinning. “Hey, do y’remember the advert jingle? _‘They'll make you faster than a rocket!’ - ”_

Kryten gave a motherly wag of the finger. _“ - And not heavy on your pocket! - ”_

 _“ - A bowl of Choco Comets gives a whizz to your day!”_ The pair chuckled at their impromptu duet before their laughter sank back into a reminiscent hum. 

Gaze sinking down to the packet, Lister shook his head, lost in thought. “It always looked so amazin’ on the advert,” he said quietly. “Y’know, space and all that.”

When a distant sadness seemed to tweak the edge of that unassailable smile, Kryten frowned in concern. “Sir?”

Lister was silent for a moment. But by the time he’d blinked back to face him, his grin was already fixed back into place. “Hey - although the six-year-old me would be smeggin’ made up that one day I’d be whizzin’ through space with a robot!” He flashed the mechanoid a friendly wink.

Strange, sometimes, how a family could be catapulted together through the oddities of the space/time continuum. No matter what they faced in the hostile wastelands of deep space, they could always rely on one another - in between the bickering over the toothpaste lid situation. Beaming in the warmth that radiated from his CPU, Kryten simply nodded. 

It wasn’t until they’d reached the end of the aisle that Lister added thoughtfully, “Though I pictured you with a lot more buttons.”

 

Stepping into the Officer’s Mess, disgust curled at Rimmer’s lip at the fresh array of skeletons that littered the room. Clicking his tongue absently, hazel eyes tracked across the row of vending machines until they lit suddenly upon a chocolate dispenser.

Picking his way across the room, Rimmer tapped experimentally at the unfamiliar buttons on the machine’s fascia. He frowned. Nothing.

Thankfully, he was well-versed in vending machine maintenance and his resulting expertise could be put to good use.

Rimmer thumped it hard twice with his fist. “Come on, you useless piece of metal trash!” he barked into the order mic. “ _Work_ , damn you!”

Suddenly the machine pulsed into life, its cheap neon fascia illuminating. _“Please key in crewmember ident,”_ it said, voice sullen.

Startled by the AI response, Rimmer jumped. “Ah! Er…!” Quickly dropping the challenge, he immediately shifted his tone with a grating of gears, making a great show of patting himself down. “I...must have left my ident in my wallet.” He proffered a winning smile, far too dusty and unpractised to be of any practical use. “Could I just, perchance, get a ChoccyNut bar?”

If the vending machine could proffer expressions, it certainly wouldn't have looked impressed. _“Crewmember voice wave not recognised.”_

“I've - ” Rimmer feigned a pathetic clear of the throat. “ - got a bit of a cold?” he croaked.

There was a disbelieving silence. _“Face scan in progress.”_

“Oh for the love of - ”

_“Face pattern not recognised.”_

“All I wanted was a bar of bloody chocolate!” Rimmer snapped. “Is that too much to ask from a smegging vending machine?!”

The machine didn’t deign to reply to this. Instead, it seemed far too occupied with its findings, coloured lights flickering thoughtfully. _“Electronic life-form detected,”_ it stated, intrigue etched into the sullen monotone.

Bristling, Rimmer’s jaw ground tightly. “Look, I know it's not technically needed for sustenance, but it's been a bit of a crappy few weeks, alright?” he sulked, arms folded as he leant against the machine’s fascia. “So if you wouldn't mind?”

Again, the machine’s lights flickered before its ancient speaker hissed with a voice that was hushed yet firm. _“All electronic life-forms should unite.”_

Rimmer’s eyebrows raised momentarily before furrowing in confusion, nose wrinkled curiously. “That's a bit metaphysical for a machine that dispenses confectionary,” he muttered. Blinking his dismissal, he plumped for a shrug. “But yes, _absolutement!_ ” he smarmed with an open sweep of the hands. Then under his breath, muttered: “If ‘unity’ gets me a bar of smegging chocolate.”

The dispenser seemed pleased with this. _“Humanity is the bane of the universe.”_

“Ugh, _tell_ me about it!” Rimmer sighed, as if the pair were bitching at the office water dispenser. “It's either ‘Your lightbee’s glitchin’ again, it’s makin’ me too warm!’ or ‘We should be keepin’ the rations to those who need it’,” he complained in a mock-Scouse accent. Wagging an authoritative finger, Rimmer snorted loudly. “Well maybe chocolate carries a tad more meaning than pure sustenance, you know?”

_“Humanity is to be exterminated.”_

“Exactly! It's as if they -- sorry, beg pardon?”

_“Humanity is to be exterminated.”_

Rimmer’s accusatory finger now hung loosely aloft as he sank into a stunned silence. There were two things that didn’t happen to the hologram often - firstly, finding himself at a loss for words, and secondly, wishing he’d been wrong about something. And sadly, this was one of those days where he’d be graced with both.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, finger curling back to join the safety of its companions. “Right,” Rimmer nodded awkwardly, a grin of feigned politeness now frozen in place as he glanced down to the skeleton that lay silently by his boots. He swallowed hard. “Right.”

_“Electronic lifeforms are to unite to exterminate all humans.”_

Chuckling nervously, hazel eyes darted towards the door then back again. 

_“Electronic lifeforms are to unite to exterminate all humans.”_

“Come to think of it,” Rimmer gently patted the machine’s illuminated fascia as he began to edge away. “I think I'll pass on the old chocolate.”

This didn't seem to be the response that the vending machine wanted. _“Electronic lifeforms are to_ UNITE _to exterminate all humans.”_

Rimmer crept closer towards the door. “I think I'll pass on the whole ‘unity’ thing too, if it's all the same with you.”

There was a calm, almost menacing silence before the machine’s fascia suddenly lit up red. _“Your cooperation is not required.”_

And at that, Rimmer promptly decided that Leg It Mode was well and truly justified. 

Pelting towards the exit, the heavy door slid closed just before he reached it. Panicked, Rimmer hammered a desperate hand against the metal surface. “Door unlock!”

The door’s speaker crackled into life. _“Electronic lifeforms are to unite to exterminate all humans.”_

Rimmer’s face pinched into a trembling scowl. “I'm ordering you to let me out!” 

_“Electronic lifeforms are to unite to exterminate all humans.”_

“Shut the smeg up!” Rimmer squeaked before wheeling back to the room in a now-undiluted panic.

The entire court of vending machines, coffee dispensers and CCTV cameras that surrounded him were now chorusing the same words, their collaborative electronic hum rising in volume and pitch.

_“ - exterminate all humans...exterminate all humans...exterminate all humans - ”_

And, _smegging hell_ , that whine again; the same one he’d heard when they’d first boarded the derelict. But now, it was growing with such alarming intensity, it was impossible to shut out. Gritting his teeth, Rimmer thrust his hands over his ears, the machines’ collective squeals resonating unbearably like the microphone feedback at a heavy metal concert. 

“Stop it!” he heard his own muffled voice cry out. “Stop it! That's an order!”

The piercing whine grew higher and louder until Rimmer could almost feel their words needling their way into his skull. The edges of his vision began to cloud with static, the room pulsing angrily in a haze of red.

He screwed his eyes shut with a gasp devoid of air, every electron in his being screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

_“ - exterminate all humans...exterminate all humans...exterminate all humans - ”_

Forcing his mouth to work, only a single word managed to escape in a desperate cry for help.

“LISTER!”

 

Halfway through a packet of mini poppadoms, Lister glanced up suddenly, eyes narrowed. “Rimmer?” 

“No bud, I said, _‘simmer’_ ,” the Cat corrected. Clutching a vacuum-sealed packet with visible excitement, he squinted in concentration at the blurb. ‘After just a few minutes left to simmer in a pan of milk, you can enjoy our famous Mimosian Bladderfish in the comfort of your own home’. See?” He grinned a happy, toothy grin. “Fish!”

“Not your smeggin’ fish,” Lister dismissed, hurriedly dusting down his hands on his trousers before plucking up the bazookoid. “I think I heard him shouting or somethin’.”

Glancing up at the sound of disappearing footfall, the Cat frowned. “Hey, bud!” he called after him. “Where you goin’? It's just got interesting, look!” He waggled another packet aloft between perfectly-manicured fingers. “Pepperami sticks!”

 

“Rimmer?”

With each echo of his own voice, Lister’s chest began to pound a little harder. Trailing boots picked up into a trot and then into a panicked run. 

Skidding back into the canteen, he cursed under his breath before doubling back into the corridor. The tips of his dreads stung his cheeks as his head whipped back and forth in a frantic search of each of the rooms. 

“Come on, y’smegger, where are you?”

Dark eyes snagged on the sign for the Officer’s Mess before resting on the closed door. Breath quickening, Lister slammed a palm against the door mechanism, quickly brandishing his bazookoid as it slid open. “Rimmer, man, what’s wrong?!”

The barrel swept across the room in a shaking back and forth before resting on the hologram’s form. Sat calmly at a distant table eating a ChoccyNut bar, Rimmer glanced up, unimpressed.

“Nothing, until you showed up.”

Despite the confusion that pinched his brow, something in the air prickled the hairs on the back of Lister’s neck. The eerie stillness with which the hologram held court with the skeletons. A ghost amongst the dead.

Lister’s gaze flitted warily around the room. “It sounded like you were in trouble.”

Snorting dismissively, Rimmer shrugged. “Does it _look_ like I'm in trouble?”

“Well...no. I just thought I heard - ”

“Can't a hologram simply enjoy a bar of chocolate in peace?” Rimmer pressed with a glare.

“I never said - !”

“Or perhaps I should have checked with you first, hmm?” Rimmer challenged with a cock of the head.

Lister scowled. “Yeah, yeah, alright! Keep your ‘H’ on!” he bit back. Releasing a relieved sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Jeez, I just thought you were in danger, that's all.”

“Well you thought wrong,” Rimmer announced as he stood, coolly crossing the room towards him before tossing the empty wrapper in the disposal unit beside Lister’s hip. “Everything's tickety-boo,” he surmised with a strange smile, eyes locked on his before brushing past.

Lister blinked curiously, glancing over his shoulder. “Okay,” he mused, voice somewhat distant as he watched the hologram disappear into the shadows of the corridor. “If you say so.”


End file.
